Tuesday, January 31, 2012

POEM FOR J FRANZ

Poem for Jonathan Franzen,
Poem Called "Death of the Book"

And they cried for it was called a Kindle,
and they cried for it came to burn books,
and burn all books like a first-growth.........forest. Made by wizards! And full,
they claim, of magic e-ink, that assembles
itself in the dark like crowds. Because
someone’s getting burned on the bonfire
later, and his name is Book, The Book.
Some homeless guy. He’s gross. We hate
him. Stay in your cardboard box, old man!
The Book sleeps in his box and dreams,
and dreams of dirty oral, and is awakened
by big hands lifting him out. The crowd
of e-ink whispers to itself, the crowd of e-ink
huddles together, held in the hand of some-
one larger. And there goes the match,...............and there goes the newspaper.
To read the first Kindle by the light...........................of a homeless trashcan
fire – the experience beggars description!
Makes description a beggar wearing finger-
less gloves. He got holes in his pockets and
holes in his socks and the soles of his boots
they open to speak. Every time he reads
a word it slips out of him somewhere. It slips
out and the beggar cries. He just wants to be
able to hold again what happened to Anna
Karenina. Killed by the train of progress,
beggar. Killed by the demon belching smoke.
The arms that would hold her own book
lopped off! And the reader staring down
at the tracks, watching the e-ink assemble
around her, “Oh the youngest technology,
Anna Karenina!” cries the crowd out to her body.
“Oh she is cheap and light and everywhere!”
And all of her penny-elongated, and 99 cents...................................................on the Kindle.